Axle rolled his neck from side to side trying to loosen the taught cables while sending a short smile in ‘Jack’s general direction. Truth be told he preferred to stay with both of his patients however, he had other obligations, not to mention that he was sure to be called by Ratchet sooner or later.

The black and green Autobot relaxed his posture and cast a long gaze at the scientist. “Yeah. I’ll contact Ratch just as soon as I take some final readings on both Smokey and Tra…” Just then he heard the commotion coming from the back room. As soon as Wheeljack took off Axle followed close behind.

Axle surveyed the scene while Wheeljack moved in to help Smokescreen restrain the confused femme. Tracer struggled against both mechs and continued her pleas to be released. “Whoa! Tracer I need you to calm down.” The medic said and slowly extended a hand out to grip the femme’s arm. The seemingly innocent act caused Tracer to jerk away quickly.

“Don’t touch me! Just…just stay away!” Axle pulled away slowly while studying the femme’s demeanor and mannerisms. She was agitated and obviously confused. She didn’t seem to recognize any of them which was not a good sign…not in the least.

“Tracer…do you know who I am?” Axle cocked his head to one side while she finally looked up at him. “Of course I do. I’ve seen you every day for the past five vorns.” The medic’s optics widened with realization. He cast a quick gaze at Wheeljack and then turned his attention on to Smokescreen. He shook his head slightly and then refocused his attention on Tracer. “Tracer, what’s my name?” The scout glared at the medic for a long moment before she finally ground out her answer. “Compulsor.”

The answer the femme gave was of no surprise to Axle. “Alright. Tracer, I’d like you to stay here with Wheeljack while I talk to my friend over here.” As the medic spoke he worked his way around the berth to where Smokescreen was holding the femme. He took a hold of the blue and red mech’s elbow and guided Smokescreen away so that he could speak with him in private.

“She’s hallucinating. She has no idea who we are. From what I can tell she believes that I’m the former head of the Rodion Assylum. And you two…” Axle indicated Wheeljack and the rallybot... “…are, to her, the orderlies.”

The medic paused for a moment as he gently rubbed his chin in thought. “She won’t believe me if I tell her Compulsor’s dead so we’ll have to try something else.” Axle cast his gaze over in Tracer’s direction…thus far she was cooperating with ‘Jack, but he couldn’t be sure that it would last.

“Smokey, I think you can help her through this.” He flashed the lovesick mech a small smile and a quick nod. “I want you to talk to her…tell her something…a story…that has some kind of meaning.” Axle thought for a moment while he cast his gaze on the femme. “Remind her of who you are to her.” With that said, Axle gestured for Smokescreen to move back to Tracer’s side.

“Tracer, this is a friend of mine. His name’s Smokescreen and he’d like to talk to you for a little bit. Is that alright?” Tentatively, Tracer looked from Axle and over to Smokey. Her optics lingered on him as she nodded in agreement.

“Wait, did you just say hallucinogen?” Smokescreen asked, glaring over at Wheeljack as the two mechs tried desperately to subdue the troubled femme. “There was a hallucinogen in the Syk and you didn’t think to remove it before replicating it not to mention injecting her with it!?”

“We did consider it, Smokey,” the mechanical engineer responded as he looked back at the angry rallybot. “But Axle thought it would be better not to tamper with the mixture. He wasn’t sure, and nor was I, whether or not Tracer had ever been exposed to such an element before. Removing it all together could’ve had a worse effect on her.”

“Worse than this?” Regardless of his anger, the diversion expert understood the reasoning behind the decision. Of course, he certainly didn’t like it, especially now with how Tracer didn’t even know who they all were. Before the red and blue racer could say any more on the subject, Axle had moved in and taken control of the situation. The field medic asked the drug-addled femme a couple of questions before ascertaining the problem for himself. The black and green medical expert then took Smokey by the elbow and lead him away, leaving Wheeljack behind to keep Tracer under control.

Axle’s first two statements told Smokescreen nothing that he hadn’t already figured out for himself. He remained quiet, however, listening to the rest of the field medic's explanation regarding the specifics of her hallucination. “The Rodion Asylum. It all makes sense now,” the rallybot said before Axle suggested that he tell her a story, something that had personal meaning to both of them and would remind her of who he was. Smokey thought for a moment, glancing over at Tracer as he searched his databanks for anything that he could use. Finally, something came to mind and he looked back at the medic. “I think I’ve got just the thing.”

Smokescreen then followed Axle back to where Tracer was once again seated on the makeshift med berth. The black and green mech re-introduced the rallybot to her, asking if she would allow him to speak to her. Hesitantly, she agreed and Smokey slowly moved to her side, kneeling down so that he was at optical level with her. At the same time, Wheeljack loosened his grip on her arm as she relaxed some, but kept a close watch on the troubled femme just in case she got out of control again.

“Hi, Tracer,” the diversion expert began to say in a soft, calming voice. “My name’s Smokescreen. I know that you don’t know me, but I promise I’m not going to hurt you in any way. I just want to help you remember what’s you’ve forgotten, that’s all. I’m going to start by telling you a story if that’s okay. This story involves both you and I and it takes place on Cybertron a long time ago. It was only the second time we had ever met. I spotted you on a street corner in a bad area of the casino district in Kaon. I was with an old street racing buddy of mine at the time when I saw you. I ditched my friend and decided to head across the street to where you were standing. Remember? You thought I was going to demand that you return the credits I caught you trying to steal from me in the casino during our first meeting and then gave to you in order to help you out. I told you that the money wasn’t important and that I just wanted to see how you were doing. You relaxed after that and we talked for a bit. We were about to part ways when I stopped and asked if you’d meet me later that night in a bar just down the street. I really didn’t think you’d say yes, but to my surprise you did.”

Smokescreen paused for a moment to allow everything he had just said to sink in to the troubled femme’s confused processor. He cast her a compassionate look before continuing. “I got to the bar first and waited for several cycles. I was about to leave, convinced that you had stood me up, when finally you arrived. You were so apologetic for being late, but I didn't even care. You were there and that's all that mattered to me. We ended up talking for hours on end. Once we were done trading stories and what not, we both got up to leave and stepped outside where I asked you a question. Remember? It was so silly of me to ask you something like that when we had only known each other for such a short amount of time, but I couldn’t help myself. There was just something about you that made you different from all the other femmes I had known, something very special. Do you remember what I asked you, Trace?”

As the “medic” pulled the other blue and red mech away from the slab, Tracer kept a leery optic glued to Wheeljack. He had eased up on restraining her but she was still convinced that he’d try to pin her down again once the other two were finished with their side bar. To her surprise the “medic” returned but he did not give any order to subdue her and drag her from her cell…as was customary…instead he told her that his “friend” had something to talk to her about.

Tracer’s curiosity was piqued as she followed Smokescreen’s movements closely while the diversionary expert introduced himself in a soft and soothing tone. But as nice as he sounded she was not going to let her guard down. After all, these mechs were refusing to release her from her cell. Her optics narrowed ever so slightly as the scout took in what Smokescreen was telling her.

Tracer offered him a nod agreeing to hear this story he was ready to recite. To her surprise the tale was one that included herself and this unknown Smokescreen person. Had she met him before she went to Rodion? She didn’t think so. So how is it he knew her? Tracer quieted her processor as the blue and red mech began his narrative.

As the story unfolded the femme’s attention intensified. There was something…it all seemed familiar but how could it? She never met this mech…or had she? It was all so confusing…her head hurt, but she could not shake the underlying feeling that what he was telling her was true.

As Smokescreen pressed onward Tracer turned her gaze away from him and focused on the floor in front of her. Her eyes were elsewhere but her audios were wide open to what he was telling her. The bar. It was small…dark, and it smelled like stale energon. But that didn’t matter.

Tracer kept her optics averted but when he asked about whether or not she remembered what he asked her when they left the bar, Tracer stiffened. She remained silent for several minutes before her tense posture relaxed and she let out a low sigh. With her head still lowered she answered Smokescreen in something akin to a whisper. “You asked me…you asked if I believed in love at first sight.” She slowly raised her head until she met his optics. After a moment of gazing into his bright blue eyes, Tracer went on. “And I told you no…that I believed in fate and that I believed in luck.”

A very small smile crept onto her face while she carefully watched his expression. She finally raised her hand and gently cupped his cheek. “It was the wrong answer.”

The exchange started out with the femme keeping a trained eye on all three of the mechs only to relax…if only for a moment…when Smokescreen started to tell her the story. At first Tracer seemed to have trouble believing what she was being told, but whether it was Smokescreen himself or her actually recalling the memory of that time Axle was not sure…however, she seemed to be accepting what was being told to her.

Axle visibly relaxed letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding as Tracer answered Smokescreen’s query and followed it up with a loving gesture. All very good signs. However, she may recognize Smokescreen, but that did not mean she would recognize him or ‘Jack. Playing it on the safe side Axle took a slight step forward and lightly touched Smokescreen on the back to gain his attention and spoke in a very low tone so that only the mech in front of him could hear. “Good job, Smokescreen. Now ask her if she recognizes ‘Jack and me. Also be sure to let her know that she’s not in the asylum…that we’re on the Ark – 22 and we’re all trying to help her with her addiction.” He paused for a moment to be sure the diversionary expert absorbed everything he had requested.

After what seemed like more than just a few minutes, Smokescreen cracked a small smile as Tracer finally remembered the question he had asked her after their meeting at the energon bar. As indicated prior, it was a silly question to be sure and Smokey was a bit embarrassed that both Axle and Wheeljack were present to hear it. Still, it was a good sign that the troubled femme was coming back to him and coming back to the here and now. “That’s right,” the rallybot replied as he felt her hand gently cup his cheek. “It was right for us at the time I suppose. If we had allowed ourselves to fall in love then it would have made our separation once the war started so much more difficult than it already had been.”

Taking her hand into his own, Smokescreen kept his optics fixated on Tracer’s newly installed ones in the hopes that his gaze would continue to awaken those memories the hallucinogenic Syk had temporarily stolen from her. It was then that he heard Axle’s voice whisper into his audio receptor, giving him further instructions on what to do and what to say next. The red and blue racer turned his head slightly to one side and gave a faint nod to the field medic before regarding the drug addled femme with the same caring look he had before. “Tracer, please listen to me. You’re not in the asylum anymore. That was a very long time ago before the war. You are currently here with me on board the Ark-22 in the Sol System. My friends and I are just trying to help you beat your addiction to Syk. It was laced with a hallucinogen, which is why you’re having difficulty recalling everything that has happened.”

The diversion expert paused for a moment and looked over at Wheeljack, who was still crouched down next to the slab, keeping a light grip on Tracer. Smokescreen reached out his free hand and placed in firmly on the mechanical engineer’s shoulder plate. “This here is Wheeljack and the mech standing behind me is Axle,” the rallybot stated as his gaze settled back on Tracer’s perplexed expression. “Do you remember them? They’re my friends and yours, too. They saved my life, building me a new body in the process. I trust them with my very spark and so can you.”

Wheeljack retracted his faceshield, revealing a broad smile underneath. It was a motion the engineer did slowly as he felt it would be less scary for Tracer if she could see the friendly visage behind the mask, which could sometimes come across as intimidating and somewhat frightening for those that were unfamiliar with the resident mad scientist or his personality. In this case, the reaction she was having from the Syk was the cause of that fear and uncertainty, so hopefully a faceplate with an actual mouthpiece would help diminish those feelings to some degree. It didn’t seem like much, but every little bit counted especially in a situation such as this.

The touch of Smokescreen’s hand on Wheeljack’s shoulder caused him to cast that same warm smile in the diversion expert’s direction before returning it to the troubled femme. The engineer said nothing, however, as the rallybot was doing an adequate job of talking Tracer out of her hallucinating state all by himself. Another voice added into the mix now might cause her confusion and ultimately panic could return. Then they’d be right back at square one again, and the rallybot would have to come up with a different story to calm her down once more and bring her back to reality.

Either way, once this was all said and done, Wheeljack would need to recalibrate the hallucinogen element in the replicator so that this would not happen again. This was no way for any mech to function and the road to recovery seemed more and more like an impossible one to travel now. Of course, Smokey would never give up and neither would the mechanical engineer. They were his friends and the scientist's loyalty to them would continue to endure.

It seemed right, but how could it be? She had never met this mech before yet he was familiar. She remembered the time in the bar, but he said that was their second meeting. When did they first meet? It was all so confusing, but she found it difficult to mistrust him…this Smokescreen.

Tracer kept her optics locked with Smokescreen’s as the diversion expert tried again to convince her that she was, in fact, not in the asylum but that they were all on board some sort of space ship in the Sol System. It couldn’t have been true. There was no war…sure there was talk about it…rumors even, but there was no war. There was just the asylum and the endless “treatment sessions”. Tracer shook her head in rejection. “No. There’re only rumors about a war starting. I heard the orderlies talking…they say it won’t happen.”

The blue and white femme quickly looked away and cast her optics to the floor. Again she shook her head. She then slowly took another look at both Wheeljack and Axle. They were still an orderly and Compulsor. “No. He’s the one who ordered the therapy…” She pointed an accusing finger in Axle’s direction and then quickly pointed to Wheeljack. “…and he’s the one that comes for me every day.” Her attention snapped back to Smokescreen while squeezing his hand. “Please. Tell me you’ve come to get me out of here.”

Axle let out a heavy sigh as he listened to Tracer’s reaction. He knew it was premature to believe that one story would bring her out of a drug induced hallucination. It seemed that it would have to run its course. Now, whether or not that would be a wise decision remained to be seen. One good sign, however, was that the scout was no longer struggling and fighting to escape. She seemed to have calmed down and quickly came to trust Smokescreen. Big tick.

After a few minutes of observation Axle leaned down again and whispered into Smokescreen’s audio. “We’re going to have to let the hallucinogen run its course. The good thing…she trusts you and she seems calmer. Keep her talking. Maybe something will jar her memory.” He took a quick glance at the femme and gave her a small warm smile…it didn’t seem to go over well as Tracer flinched back sending the field medic a deep scowl. “I’d prefer not to tranquilize her if it can be avoided.”

The black and green mech pulled away from the red and blue ‘Bot and stepped over to where Wheeljack was waiting. Tracer followed every movement “Compulsor” made making sure that he remained in her line of sight at all times. When he stopped next to the mech she was introduced to as “Wheeljack” she carefully slid off the makeshift berth and worked her way behind Smokescreen. “They’re going to stick me in the quiet room aren’t they?”

>>”Axle! I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing, but I need your aft in here now!”<<

Axle had just opened his mouth to address the scientist when his comm line buzzed. The medic slowly ran his hand down the length of his face and let out a heavy sigh…it was Ratchet. He had hoped that he would have been able to spend just a little more time in the lab, but it sounded as though Ratchet was more frustrated than usual. Something happened. “’Jack, I have to go. Something’s wrong…Ratchet just commed me…he sounds…I have to go.” The slightly annoyed expression that had been on his face faded and was replaced by a worried look. “Keep me informed.” He said just as he began to jog toward the door.

Once Tracer had calmed down enough, Wheeljack decided to let go of her entirely. He slowly stood to his full height and carefully moved away from the metallic slab she was still sitting on. She seemed to trust Smokescreen, but the troubled femme still believed ‘Jack was an orderly at the asylum and Axle to be someone called Compulsor. It was evident to the scientist that the hallucinogen would have to run its course even without the field medic having to tell him as much. The mechanical engineer let out a low sigh as Axle made his way to Wheeljack’s side. The black and green mech was about to say something when he received a comm from Ratchet, demanding that he return to the Guardian’s med bay at once.

“No problem, Axle,” Wheeljack said to the retreating field medic. “I’ve got things under control here, so don’t worry.” The scientist barely had time to finish his sentence when Axle had already disappeared into the corridor outside his lab. ‘Jack let out another sigh before he peered back over his shoulder plate at the pair of star-crossed lovers. The diversion expert seemed to be keeping her calm, but how long that would last was anyone’s guess.

It was then that Wheeljack remembered he had to put in for Smokescreen and Tracer’s assignment transfer to the mad scientist’s lab. To avoid scrutiny with the higher-ups, ‘Jack decided to request approval through the automated transfer system via the Ark-22’s computer. With the engineer’s officer status, it should be no problem getting the transfer okayed without drawing any unwanted attention. Thus the white mech wasted no more time and made his way to the nearest terminal, entering the appropriate access codes as soon as he sat down. Before long he had gained admittance to the system and quickly typed in the request to have the diversion expert and troubled femme reassigned to his lab for the foreseeable future, or at least until everything that needed to be resolved was, in fact, resolved to everyone’s satisfaction.

There, that should do it, Wheeljack thought to himself as he turned around in his chair to check on the pair of mechs once more. They seemed to be doing okay with Smokescreen talking to her in a calm manner. Perhaps he was telling her another story to help jog her memory. Just as long as Tracer remained relaxed everything would be okay and a tranquilizer would not be needed. All there was for the scientist to do now was wait for the approval to come through the automated system._________

While Smokescreen was relieved that Tracer seemed to trust him, he was disheartened to discover that she still didn’t fully remember him and continued to think that Wheeljack and Axle worked at the asylum. She also refused to believe that a war had broken out or that she was really on board the Ark-22. The drug-addled femme then begged for him to get her out of the asylum, a look of desperation etched on her faceplate. “I’m here to help you, Tracer, in any way that I can,” Smokey insisted as he held her hand to comfort her. Axle’s whispered vocals then registered in the rallybot’s audio receptors as the field medic informed him that the hallucinogen was going to have to run its course and that he should keep her talking, hoping a tranquilizer would not be necessary.

Smokescreen gave no verbal response to the black and green medic, only nodding slightly before Axle moved away to speak with Wheeljack. That left the diversion expert alone to help the troubled scout regain her memory. Before he had the chance to say anything further, she had gotten up off of the slab and moved around behind the kneeling rallybot, whispering something to him about a quiet room. Smokey stood up and turned around to face the worried femme, placing his hands onto her shoulder plates as a gentle smile formed on his visage.

“No one’s putting you in a quiet room, I promise,” Smokescreen reassured her as he took a single step closer to Tracer. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. You can trust me. You’ve always been able to trust me, remember?” The rallybot gazed into her optics, hoping to find some sign of her memory returning. He had already succeeded to a certain extent with the story of their second meeting, but it hadn’t been enough. Therefore, perhaps it was time for another story, one that would bring even more of her memories back from the confines of her processor and wake her up to the current reality that she was living in.

Removing both of his hands from her shoulders, Smokescreen lowered them until he had her own actuators intertwined with his. “Tracer, I know you don’t remember the war breaking out, but it did and it’s still going on to this day, countless vorns later. It ultimately tore us apart but not before you saved me from making the biggest mistake of my life, remember? After our second meeting at the bar, we spent a lot of additional time together. I helped you by winning more credits at the Iacon casinos and giving them to you whenever you needed them. I even taught you how to cheat without getting caught. I never asked what the credits were for. I just wanted to help you. I never realized until recently just how bad your problems were. Had I known back then, I would’ve done things differently to help you.”

Smokescreen looked away for a moment before returning his apologetic optics to her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t see past my own selfish and deceitful nature. By teaching you those same traits, I was enabling you and your addiction. I was blind to your troubles just as I was blind to what was going on around us regarding the Decepticon uprising until it was too late. When that ‘Con sympathizer approached me with the hopes of recruiting me into their ranks, it was you that showed me that while I may be a lier and a cheater, I was certainly no murderer like Megatron and his goons. Change was certainly needed with all of the corruption in the senate, but not like that. You were the reason I joined the Autobots, why we both ended up joining. Remember? You saved me long before I got around to saving you, and I’ll never forget that.”

The diversion expert then slowly leaned in and kissed Tracer delicately on her chevron, all the while keeping her hands gently grasped within his own. Once the show of affection was delivered, Smokescreen pulled back again and smiled at her. “Trace, do you remember the ‘Con who had tried to recruit me? I didn’t give him an answer right away. Instead, I came to you for guidance and told you how I had always looked up to him before the war and that I was seriously considering accepting his offer. He had been a champion racer alongside the likes of Blurr, at least until the Cybertronian races had been shut down due to several Decepticon terrorist attacks. He was someone I had inspired to be just like back then, hoping to one day escape from the illegal street racing circuit and win it all in the big leagues. Remember his name, Trace?”

Tracer waited as Smokescreen stood back up from his kneeling position and turned around to face her. She only flinched slightly when he placed his hands on her shoulders but it was his gentle smile that ultimately settled her down. He seemed so sincere how could she not trust him? After all, he did say he was there to help her in any way he could.

His soothing words did comfort her unsure mind but there were still those “other” things that had to be addressed. Namely what she heard. “I was there one time. It didn’t stop the…” She cut herself off her train of thought completely lost. She searched his features for any sign that he might be trying to trick her into something…anything…there wasn’t. So sincere.

Tracer off-lined her optics and turned her head up to the ceiling letting out a heavy, weary sigh. Everything seemed so complicated what with being stuck in the asylum and being told that she was wrong. Then there was that bit about a war…and Syk? After several minutes of quiet contemplation Tracer raised her hands to the sides of her head and gently rubbed. Her processor hurt. There was just so much to take in. She on-lined her optics just as Smokescreen began to relate another story from her supposed past. The femme didn’t refuse to listen instead she focused on everything he said…she watched his every move…took note of all of his nuances.

It meant nothing. She accepted his sweet show of affection and leaned in closer when he pressed his lips to her chevron, but it still failed to bring back anything he thought she should remember. And once he was finished she offered him a small pained smile before shaking her head gently.

“No. I don’t. I don't remember.” Tracer carefully pulled away from Smokescreen and made her way back to the slab where she sat back down. She had torn her gaze from the blue and red mech and focused instead on her hands that were resting gently in her lap. The silence between them was deafening, but for Tracer she could hear everything. “I just want the screaming to stop. I can hear it more now…screaming, whimpered cries and most of them are not mine…at least not anymore.” She looked up from her hands for a moment. “At first it was the whispers…the disparaging looks…even upturned olfactory sensors that made me want to give up. Then I came here.”

The scout sighed lowly and slid back off the slab. She began to pace slowly in front of the rallybot…it wasn’t panic that drove her but instead a need to just move. “And then the screams started. ‘It’s normal’, they told me. ‘You’ll get used to it. You’ll forget all about it once you’ve had more sessions and in a vorn you’ll be cured’.” Tracer stopped in front of Smokescreen and shook her head gently. “That vorn’s long past and nothing’s changed. But…” She raised her hand and lightly brushed her fingertips along his cheek. “…you said before that you were here to help me…that you would help me in any way you can.”

The blue and white scout flashed a pained smile and stepped in just a little bit closer to the diversionary tactician. “Help me; help me make the screaming stop. They’ll never let me go and I’m tired… so very tired of hearing it.” She paused for just a moment before leaning in and placing a scant kiss on his lip plates. The gesture only lasted but a moment before Tracer pulled back far enough to whisper low so that only he could hear. “I tried. I tried to make it stop…to make it all stop, but I found out I can’t do it myself. Someone else has to do it. You have to do it.” Tracer pulled away so that she could look Smokescreen in the optics…an anguished, pleading look had made its way onto her visage… “Please.”

Another wave of disappointment washed over Smokescreen’s faceplate as Tracer told him that she could not remember the name of the Decepticon who had tried to recruit him so long ago. How could she have forgotten the one mech, a former Cybertronian racing champion, that the diversion expert had been a die hard fan of back then and who almost convinced him that the ‘Con way was the only way? The hallucinogen element in this batch of Syk was very strong, indeed, and it would take even more prodding from the rallybot in order to shake the memories from the troubled femme’s damaged processor. He had hoped that all this would have begun to wear off by now, but it appeared that there was no end in sight, not without the proper push back into reality.

Smokescreen kept a close optic on Tracer as she pulled away from him and moved back to the metallic slab where she sat down again. The diversion expert remained standing as he listened to her describe the screaming she had heard during her stay in the asylum. Smokey knew that it had been a terrible ordeal for her, but this just added a whole new layer to her suffering while incarcerated there. The rallybot wanted to say something but stopped when the hallucinating femme slid off of the berth and began to pace, continuing her descriptions of the screams and how she was told that they were normal and that she would adjust to them in time. Oh, how much Smokey wanted to go back in time and give those orderlies a real thrashing. He wanted to make them all pay for the tortures they had inflicted on Tracer when all she really wanted was to get some help and all they did was make things far worse.

The blue and white scout then moved in closer to Smokescreen and begged him to help her make the screaming stop forever. Tracer leaned forward and placed a delicate kiss on the diversion expert’s lips, a gesture he returned to her before she pulled back and whispered to him how she had tried to make it stop before but that she had failed. She needed someone else to do it and that someone was the red and blue racer standing in front of her. Smokey had said he would do anything to help her and she took him literally at his word.

Smokescreen stared back at the troubled femme as she pleaded with him to end the screaming. At first he was unsure what exactly to do for her. Did she want him to remove her audio receptors or shut them down somehow? No, that doesn’t make any sense at all, the rallybot thought as his gaze remained fixated on Tracer’s desperate visage. After a few more astroseconds, Smokey finally understood what she meant by “make it all stop.” It wasn’t just the screaming that she wanted to stop. It was her very spark and thus her overall suffering. Doing so herself wouldn’t work, not in the asylum as the orderlies would get to her in time and repair whatever damage she had managed to cause. Tracer had no control over anything in that place, not even her own life.

“No,” the diversionary tactician replied with a shocked expression etched deeply on his faceplate. He took a step back from her as his mouth quivered with what he was about to say to her next. “Are you serious? You want me to end your life!? No! NO! I will NOT do that, Tracer! I will not! I can NOT!!” An emotional Smokescreen looked to the ceiling and then to the floor as he searched for the right words. He wanted to avoid calling her crazy or insane as that would only make things worse. Still, he needed to get through to her somehow and he needed to do so now.

Smokescreen returned his full attention to the troubled femme who was now asking him to extinguish her own spark. He moved towards her quickly and grabbed her firmly by the shoulder plates again. “Now you listen to me, Tracer, I will NOT kill you, not now, not EVER! Do you understand me?! I just got done risking my own spark to save yours and to help you beat this eternal addiction to Syk! Remember?!” The rallybot shook the troubled femme as he raised his voice so that she would be sure to hear him over some non-existent screaming. “Remember how I went down with you to Earth, the planet that we are currently orbiting? Remember how you went to see your dealer, Oil Slick, in order to get more Syk? Then I followed you and attacked him, stealing some of the drug before we raced back to the shuttle. Your dealer followed and my old body was decimated by his acidic chemicals. REMEMBER?! You came to my rescue and when we finally got back up here to the Ark-22, Wheeljack and Axle saved my Trinity organs and built me a whole new body from scratch. They’re NOT orderlies, they’re our friends! They helped us! I almost died for you, Tracer! I was willing to sacrifice myself to save you, so I’ll be damned if I help you to die!!”

The rallybot held firm to the troubled femme’s now shaking body, desperate to finally get through to her. “You will remember, Tracer! You have to remember! You will dig deep inside of your processor and pull out these memories that I know are still in there. Because death is simply not an option, Tracer! No way in the Pit! I love you too much and I refuse to harm you in any way, shape or form!” Smokescreen paused for a moment, allowing himself to finally calm down long enough for him to regain some semblance of composure. “Now, tell me the name of the ‘Con that tried to recruit me,” Smokey continued, this time in a whispered tone. “You know his name. Tell me what it is! Tell me that you remember not only that but everything else, as well!”_________

The computer console began to beep, drawing Wheeljack’s attention back to the terminal. After a moment of scanning the screen, the mechanical engineer saw exactly what he wanted to see. The automated system had granted the transfer requests for both Tracer and Smokescreen. They were now officially reassigned to the mad scientist’s lab until further notice, giving them all plenty of time to sort things out to everyone's satisfaction.

Good, now I can move on to more important matters, Wheeljack thought as he stood back up and made his way across the main lab to where the replicator was still sitting on one of the worktables. Considering the troubled femme’s adverse reaction to the reproduced Syk, it was now necessary to re-calibrate the amount of hallucinogen within the narcotic, lowering the levels to such a degree that would avoid a similar reaction with future doses. The white mech had to be careful not to lower the offending element too much or even eliminate it all together as that could also cause a negative reaction that could be just as bad as seeing things that weren’t there. The Syk still needed to keep Tracer’s underlying condition under control as well as her addiction for the time being. Altering the drug too much might decrease its effectiveness, causing her withdrawal symptoms to return much sooner than normal and possibly with greater intensity.

As Wheeljack began accessing the Syk ingredients that were stored on the replicator’s processor, the sound of Smokescreen yelling at Tracer drew the mechanic’s attention away from the device. “Now what?” The scientist muttered quietly to himself as he moved away from the worktable and over to the doorway that lead into the back room. ‘Jack stopped in his tracks as he listened to the red and blue racer tell the hallucinating femme that he would not assist in terminating her life before informing Tracer of all that he had sacrificed recently to help her. The rallybot was clearly desperate now, trying everything he could to make her remember that she was no longer in the asylum. Whether this more aggressive approach would work any better than previous attempts was yet to be seen. It was all that could be done at this point since she apparently wanted to kill herself, a likely byproduct of the hallucinogen.

Regardless, Wheeljack decided to keep his distance and let the diversion expert deal with the situation as he saw fit. Smokescreen seemed to know Tracer better than anyone and thus that made him sort of a de facto expert when it came to her well being. If the engineer’s help was required, he would certainly be there for his red and blue friend. Until that time, however, ‘Jack simply waited over by the entranceway with cautious optimism that the hallucinogen would finally start to wear off soon.

Tracer’s newly repaired optics remained trained on Smokescreen as she waited with some semblance of patience for the blue and red mech to respond to her request. She was desperate for it all to end…the pain, the voices, the suffering…all of it needed to end. She knew there was no leaving the asylum; no escaping either. The only way out was by her own initiative, which had already proven unsuccessful, or, now, employ an envoy on her behalf…which is where Smokescreen came in.

The small unsure smile that was on Tracer’s face faltered when the mech before her finally gave her the answer she was waiting for; unfortunately it was not the answer she desired. She was ready to make another plea when Smokescreen quickly moved toward her and grabbed her firmly by the shoulders. The movement caught Tracer off guard forcing her to take half a shaky step back. Her optics brightened in surprise at what then flowed from the diversionary tactician’s vocalizer; it was both unexpected and disheartening.

A deep frown worked onto her face as she cringed ever so slightly at the mech’s raised voice. Tracer listened, unfortunately that was the only thing she could do while the upset bot tried to convince her that her way was not the right way. How could he possibly know what was right for her or what could help her? Her mind whirled with other possibilities if this endeavor did not pan out the way she liked.

Again, his aggressive actions had Tracer flinching unsure if he would go beyond just jostling her to get his point across.

And then he stopped. He began to calm down which made it easier for him to compose himself. Tracer watched his every move the vigor with which he had presented his case was intense…he believed in her, he believed that what he was telling her was the truth. If that was so then why didn’t she?

His calm, soothing whispered question drew her in completely, but her mind simply could not process the answer he was after. She stared at him…gazing into his optics…a grief-stricken expression etched deep onto her face. Several long moments passed before she frowned and gently shook her head in the negative. She just couldn’t remember.

Tracer let out a low moan before stepping in close to Smokey. She gently laid her head on his shoulder resting it just beside his cheek. Her arms then snaked around and under his arms until the palms of her hands pressed firmly against his back. The femme pressed in close and whispered into his audio. “I’m sorry. I just don’t…I’m sorry.”

She stayed like that for nearly a full breem, her optics off-line and her frame pressed close to his. And then a smile tugged at the corners of her lips and she on-lined her optics, yet she refused to pull away. Instead she whispered to him…low and sure. “It was Drag Strip. You loved watching him race. Hated it when I told you Blurr was so much better.” Tracer paused a moment trying to gather her thoughts and search through the newly-found lost memories. “”You are so much better than you think you are.”" "That’s what I told you. That’s what I believed, and that’s what I’d hoped you believed.”

Smokescreen waited patiently for an answer as Tracer stepped in closer to him and placed her head onto his shoulder plate. The diversion expert’s anger and aggression all but disappeared at the feeling of her arms wrapping around him with her open hands against his back. He returned the favor by pulling her into his own loving embrace. Smokey then listened as she whispered into his audio receptor that she still could not remember the name of the ‘Con who had tried to recruit him. The resulting reaction from the rallybot was not more anger this time, but sadness as another exasperated sigh escaped from his vocalizer.

The red and blue racer off-lined his optics and remained silent, all the while continuing to hold her close to him. Perhaps the sound of his own spark pulsating within his chest cavity would elicit some kind of memory from her. It was certainly worth a try even if it was a long shot to be certain. Then, after what seemed like a million breems, Smokescreen heard the troubled femme in his arms whisper to him again. The rallybot half expected her to plead with him again to help her end her life, but instead she finally said the name, Drag Strip! But, not only that, Tracer remembered how she had told Smokey that Blurr was a better racer and how much the diversion expert thought that was a load of slag, at least at the time, anyway.

“Yes!” Smokescreen exclaimed as he on-lined his optics and pulled back only slightly so that he was able to gaze down into her tortured visage. “That’s right, Tracer, it was Drag Strip! I knew you would remember! And I remember arguing with you for cycles on end that he was a far better racer than the overrated Blurr. Of course, little did I know Drag’s true nature underneath that famous facade he exhibited for his fans, including myself. What a major letdown it was for me to find out what kind of fragger he really was. I didn’t want to believe it at first, but you made me see the truth and also to believe in myself as being more than just a street racer and gambler. You showed me that I could be someone important and that I could make a real difference. It’s the whole reason I joined the Autobots.”

The rallybot cast a warm smile at her, hoping that the memories trapped within her processor would start to pour out now. However, he could not stop prodding her for more of those precious memories. Smokescreen needed to keep at it for Tracer’s sake. “Remember when we first enlisted? We both went down to the local recruitment center and did it together. We even ended up in the same boot camp! Remember? You were so nervous while I was acting all calm and cool even though I was just as nerve racked as you. The drill sergeant really busted my chops back then, practically knocked the smirk right off my faceplate. Remember who that was, Tracer? Come on, you know him! He's pretty hard to forget!”_________

Wheeljack remained by the doorway to the back room as he watched the tense situation between Smokescreen and Tracer dissolve into a calm and loving embrace. The mad scientist let out a relieved sigh as the rallybot continued to expand upon their story, prompting her to give him more and more information regarding their past together. Good, keep it up, Smokey, the white mech thought to himself. She should eventually come out of her delusional state. Just don’t let up. Persistence and patience are all that’s required now.

The mechanical engineer made no attempt to relay any of his thoughts to Smokescreen as he didn’t want to disrupt what the diversion expert was already doing. The rallybot had things well in hand and all was once again peaceful in the lab. Hopefully, that would continue to last for more than a breem or two with no further outbursts from the love ‘Bots. Thus, Wheeljack saw no reason to remain loitering near the doorway and quickly turned and made his way back to the workbench where the replicator was still waiting for him.

“Now, where was I?” Wheeljack muttered to himself as he sat down on a stool in front of the table. “Oh, yes, I need to recalibrate the hallucinogen within the program matrix. Shouldn’t be too hard.” The scientist then grew quiet as he went to work on re-programming his invention so that Smokescreen wouldn’t have to retell his and Tracer’s life story after each time the drug-addicted femme was given a dosage of Syk.

Tracer relished just being able to be held close by someone who sincerely cared for her. For most of her existence she was passed around, poked and prodded and treated like a lab experiment. There was no profit in it for her just the promises of making her a normal member of society. Those promises turned out to be empty. Normalcy never came to pass leaving her alone and broken in mind and spirit. But then Smokescreen had come along and things got better…life slowly started to become commonplace…just as it should be.

The femme leaned in closer to Smokescreen as he reciprocated her embrace. She kept her position even as she whispered the name of the racer that had tried to recruit him. She was startled, however, when Smokey cried out and pulled away slightly so he could look her in the eyes. Completely taken aback Tracer stared back with a shocked expression plastered on her face. Had she done something wrong, or was it something right? To her relief it turned out to be the latter.

Her shocked expression slowly turned over until a small smile worked onto her features. Her smile was due more to his excitement and his exuberance as she finally began to remember pieces of their shared past. But Tracer’s smile faltered when he started in with several more questions. The scout quickly averted her optics instead looking to the floor. Tracer took a moment just to remain near him before she slowly backed away and moved to the berth. She touched both hands to her temples and off-lined her optics. If she could recall Drag Strip and the part he played in both their lives then she was determined to remember all of it.

“Boot camp. It was…was in…Rodion.” Tracer shook her head slightly as she tried to access any memory files pertaining to her time in that particular location.There was the asylum, of course, which she quickly filed away. Searching and locating was difficult, everything in her mind was either scattered or partitioned by some kind of mental blockade. Finally, it had taken several breems, but finally she on-lined her optics and lifted her head high enough to look back at Smokescreen. “I remember he was an older mech…had an awful, dull green paint job. But that wasn’t what stood out about him…” She furrowed her brow as she stared off past the former racer. “…he used to chomp on that damned cy-gar. And he always had a story to go with any situation.”

Tracer’s optics met with the red and blue ‘Bot’s as she smiled and slowly made her way back to stand in front of him. “I never thought it was possible to be so enthralled and so bored at the same time. Kup made it easy though.” Tracer let out a light chuckle as she placed her hands gently on Smokescreen’s chest. “That introductory line up didn’t go very well for you. You nearly fell on your aft when Kup got in your face and gave you that dressing down. In fact, I almost got the same treatment trying to hold back the laugh.” The image of the past memory had her trying to stifle another laugh. It didn’t work of course.

The blue and white femme’s laughter and smile quieted down and finally stopped and vanished completely as another memory file was accessed and finally brought to the forefront of her processor. This one, however, was not one from her happier times. Tracer’s expression grew pained as she met Smokescreen’s gaze. “After training…we were separated into different units.” She let out a heavy sigh as she continued. “That was one of the hardest times of my life.”

Smokescreen remained still for a moment, watching as the troubled femme slowly back away from him while she tried to remember their time at boot camp. Her optics were off-lined as she rubbed her temples. The first bit of her memory came quickly followed by several breems of deep concentration. “Yes, it was in Rodion. You can do it, Tracer. I have faith in you. Just block out the asylum for the time being and focus. The memories will come back to you. I promise.”

The diversion expert took a single step towards the femme before stopping as he did not want to interrupt her thought process. The rallybot could tell that Tracer was trying very hard to access those memories that were still hidden deep within her sub-processor. It was a time consuming endeavor to be sure, especially with a hallucinogen blocking her progress every step of the way. However, that did not stop her as she finally on-lined her optics once more and looked over at Smokescreen. The drug-addicted femme’s words brought a wide grin to the red and blue mech’s faceplate as she was clearly talking about Kup. With a smile on her own visage, Tracer made her way back over to where Smokey remained standing. Her recollection of the old war horse only made the rallybot happier with each passing astrosecond.

“Ha ha! Yes, Kup was pretty tough on me, wasn’t he?” Smokescreen replied as his laughter intermingled with Tracer’s own. “Of course, I deserved every bit of what he gave me. You know, being so hard on us is what made us into soldiers capable of fighting what eventually turned into an endless war. Without the old timer’s training, not to mention patience, we would never have lasted as long as we both have. We owe him a lot.”

As Tracer’s laughter subsided, she began to recount a more somber memory, one where she and Smokescreen had parted ways for the first time. The diversion expert let out a sigh as he, too, remembered being assigned to different units after graduating from boot camp. “Yes, it wasn’t easy for me either,” Smokey responded, happy that this memory had come to her without any further prodding from him. It was getting easier for her now, but that didn’t mean the rallybot was going to let up. Not for one astrosecond would that happen. “But we eventually found one another again on the battlefield. Our units joined forces to propel a Decepticon attack against Iacon. Remember that? From then on we fought side by side, at least until the exodus. That’s when things went downhill quickly.”

Smokescreen paused for a brief moment as he brought one hand up to caress Tracer’s cheek plate. He let out a depressed sigh as he accessed his own memories of how they had lost contact with one another again, that time for countless vorns. “When the order to evacuate Cybertron was given, you and I were supposed to leave on the same shuttle. Remember? Unfortunately, it didn’t work out that way as we were surprise attacked by a Decepticon squad. I remained behind to help fight them off so that you and the others could escape. I recall seeing your shuttle fly off into the distance but then it came under heavy fire from another ‘Con unit. I never knew what had happened to you after that, and I never saw you again until just recently over on the Guardian.”

The rallybot stepped in even closer to Tracer as sadness overcame his features. “I thought you were dead for a while, that your shuttle didn’t make it. I eventually evacuated on a different ship, but I never found you. I checked the casualty lists on a regular basis for your name, but thankfully it never appeared on any of them. I always held on to hope that you were out there somewhere fighting the good fight and I guess I was right, because here you are now. I just wish I had known about the internal suffering you were going through all that time. But, then again, if I had known it would have made being apart from you for so long even worse because I wouldn’t have been there to help you get through it like I am now.”

Smokescreen stopped and looked deep into the troubled femme’s newly acquired optics. “I’m sorry I got off of that shuttle. I should have stayed with you. I should have recognized your pain and helped you beat your addiction to Syk vorns ago when it would’ve been a lot easier to do. But, at least now we’ve found each other again. This time, I won’t leave you. Never again will I leave you. I promise.”

Tracer let a sigh escape her vocalizer as she recalled being separated from Smokescreen for, what felt like to her, an eternity. She perked up, but only marginally, when he mentioned them having been reunited on the battlefield. It was disheartening, however, that their reunion had to take happen in a place surrounded by nothing but carnage. But she would have taken being together in the Pit if need be.

“I remember.” Tracer’s optics dimmed as she lowered her gaze down to the floor between them. “It may seem cruel, but I’m glad I didn’t know any of those who died in that attack on Iacon.” She shook her head gently before bringing her gaze back up to Smokescreen. Tracer gave the rallybot a forced smile as she took his hand in hers. “Downhill is putting it lightly. It was more like dying a slow painful death.”

Her smile turned genuine as she pressed into the caress when his hand gently met her cheek. It felt good to finally remember…even if the memories were sordid and unwanted. Tracer gave Smokescreen’s hand a slight squeeze as the former racer began to retell the story of when they were forced to evacuate the planet. She remembered that as well.

“I tried to go back. I couldn’t just leave you.” Tracer paused for a moment and released Smokescreen’s hand. “It was too late. The door had sealed and the shuttle was already lifting off. They had to pull me away because they were afraid I’d get the door open and jump.” She remembered not hearing anything about what happened to the Autotbots who stayed behind to help get the shuttles off the planet. For all Tracer knew Smokescreen had perished and never got away.

Tracer caught his optics and gazed just as deeply into the red and blue mech’s eyes. A smile spread across her face while she laid her hand against his cheek. “Staying behind was the right thing to do. Don’t doubt that. And as much as I missed you, as much as I had wished you were with me, I knew what you did needed to be done.” Her smile grew wider while she pressed her forehead against his. “There was no way for you to know what I was going through. So, please, no more ‘should haves’.”

Tracer pulled back slightly to look back into Smokescreen’s blue optics. She let out a contented sigh at his words before snaking her arms around his shoulders and leaning in for a tight embrace. “Good, because I won’t ever let you go.” she let out in almost a whisper.

Smokescreen listened carefully as Tracer gave him her version of events from when they had been separated for so long. While the remembrance of being apart made him sad on the inside, he couldn’t help but also feel happy, happy that the troubled femme was recalling more and more of her memories that the hallucinogen had temporarily taken away. Hearing that she had tried to go back for him, but the others on the shuttle wouldn’t let her, brought a deeper sense of regret to him as his optics reverted to the floor.

However, that feeling was quickly squashed when the blue scout placed her hand on Smokescreen’s cheek plate, bringing his optics up to meet hers once more. She then assured him that he had done the right thing and that he shouldn’t doubt himself or the decisions he was forced to make. Tracer was right. There was no way he could’ve known what she was going through, but Smokey still felt as though he should’ve at least sensed that something was wrong and perhaps questioned her about it. Of course, the femme would have almost certainly denied any problems, leaving Smokescreen to think that everything was okay with her.

“I guess you’re right, Tracer. I just feel bad about the whole situation, that’s all,” the red and blue mech conceded in a low tone as he felt the femme's chevron pressing against his own. She then lifted her head up and let out a sigh before reaching her arms around his shoulders. Reacting immediately, Smokescreen pulled her closer to his rebuilt frame as she confirmed what he already had known from the moment they had found each another again over on the Protectobot frigate - she would never let him go, either.

The embrace lasted for a few breems before Smokescreen pulled back slightly in order to look down into the drug-addicted femme’s new optics again. While she had remembered the past, the rallybot needed to be sure that she was remembering the present, as well. Thus, it was imperative that he ask her one more series of questions to eliminate any lingering doubt whatsoever. “Trace, you do remember where you are now, right? I’m sorry. I know I’ve asked you a lot of questions about the past, our past, in order to jog you memories. But, I just need to be sure that you realize you are not in the asylum anymore and that you’re surrounded by friends here and not orderlies.”

Smokey spoke in a soft tone before casting a quick glance over his shoulder plate at the resident scientist who was currently making modifications to the replicator out in the main lab. The diversion expert then returned his attention to the troubled femme and cast her a reassuring smile. “You remember who that is out there, right? Please tell me his name, and I’ll stop with the questions. I promise.”

It felt good remembering their shared past, Smokescreen and hers. Although the separation from him was devastating, their subsequent reunion, only recently, made up for their time apart. Their embrace hadn’t lasted nearly as long as she had hoped. It seemed that Smokescreen wanted to make absolutely certain that her recovering memory was not only limited to their own shared past. She needed to recall where she was and just who she might actually know.

Tracer looked back into the rallybot’s optics and studied his features for a moment. She was willing to do as he asked and look at the other mech occupying the lab, but she was frightened; not of the white ‘Bot beyond the door, but of who he might actually turn out to be. What if she had never seen him before? What if he really was that same orderly that would drag her down to that secluded hole for her daily treatments?

Briefly Tracer held Smokescreen’s gaze until she gathered enough courage to actually take a look at Wheeljack. She hesitated to look, by offlining her optics; she wanted to reassure the rallybot first that she was going to try and believe that she was safe. “I know you wouldn’t lie to me. You’ve proven that to me already. It's just that…” She shook her head once before onlining her optics and looking back up to Smokescreen. Tracer paused for a brief moment and then took a glance behind Smokescreen at the busy white mech beyond.

Tracer kept her eyes glued to the other bot. He seemed less threatening than before; however, he still resembled that same asylum aid. “I’m sorry, Smokescreen. He doesn’t act like him, but he still looks like Compulsor’s assistant.” Tracer quickly tore her gaze from Wheeljack’s busy form and looked back to the diversionary tactician. “I’m trying, please believe me, I’m trying... but …” The blue and white femme stopped suddenly as she looked over his shoulder at the room behind him. She studied it intently.

“The walls are light. They were dark in the asylum.” Tracer tilted her head up to look at the ceiling. “All of the lights are working. They haven’t flickered.” She grew quiet as she offlined her optics and drew in the surrounding air into her olfactory sensors. “The air doesn’t smell like burnt ozone.” Her voice was low as she onlined her optics and she lowered her head.

“Not the asylum. It never was.” Tracer flashed Smokescreen a relieved smile but let it fade. For a second time she peered over his shoulder at the engaged mech. Without looking away Tracer stepped around Smokescreen and worked her way, slowly, toward the mech. She stopped at the entrance to the main lab and looked Wheeljack up and down several times.

Smokescreen remained silent and kept his optics on Tracer’s troubled visage even as she broke off her gaze from him and peered over his shoulder plate at Wheeljack out in the main lab. The rallybot could tell just by the confused look on her faceplate that she still did not recognize the mad scientist. Her subsequent apology and explanation echoed those non-verbal signs. “I know you’re trying, Tracer. Don’t force the memories too much. Let them come out naturally. Just try to clear your processor and focus on your surroundings. Does this place look like the asylum? The gambler in me is willing to bet that it doesn’t.”

No sooner had Smokescreen asked yet another question, the drug-addled femme had already begun to take in Wheeljack’s Lab, noting the coloring of the walls, the working lights and the scent of the surrounding air. None of which matched the asylum in any way, shape or form. Finally, Tracer agreed that she was not in that terrible place anymore and hadn't been for a long time. However, that did not mean she remembered Wheeljack, although he certainly couldn’t be an orderly if this was actually the Ark-22.

The diversion expert allowed Tracer to step around him and approach the doorway that led into the main lab area. Her gaze was fixated on the mechanical engineer as he continued to work diligently on the replicator. Then she said his name - “Wheeljack”. It was more of a question rather than a statement, but it was a breakthrough nevertheless, eliciting a huge smile from Smokescreen’s faceplate.

Hearing his name spoken, Wheeljack stopped reprogramming the replicator and spun around on his stool. The scientist's optics widened at the sight of Tracer who had just uttered his name. The white mech felt like jumping up and down for joy but remained composed as to not startle the troubled femme. “That’s right, Tracer,” the engineer replied as he stood up and slowly walked over to the doorway, retracting his faceshield to reveal a less intimidating smile. “My name is Wheeljack. I’m a close friend of Smokey’s. I’m here to help you, not hurt you in any way.”

Wheeljack then glanced around at Smokescreen who was looking almost giddy with excitement. “Good job, buddy,” the scientist said with an optical wink.

“Thanks, but I couldn’t have done this without you, ‘Jack,” the rallybot conceded.

“Oh, no no, Smokey,” the engineer countered. “I may have assisted in other areas during this entire ordeal, but you and you alone brought Tracer out of her hallucinogenic state, at least for the most part. The credit is yours in that regard, not mine. I can only hope to avoid this situation again in the future if I can just get this reconfiguration right.”

“I guess,” Smokescreen answered as he came up behind Tracer and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder plate, a wide grin still consuming his visage. “I’m so proud of you, Trace. Now that the worst is finally over we can get back to helping you beat your addiction.”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves now. She still may have some memory gaps to overcome,” Wheeljack interjected as his optics locked with those of the rallybot. “Plus, I still need to correct what caused this problem and hope it doesn’t happen again. The replicator recalibration is very much a trial an error process with a great deal of uncertainty. First, however, it probably would be a good idea for me to conduct another scan of Tracer’s processor just to see if the high dosage of hallucinogen in the Syk caused any further or unexpected damage,” the scientist suggested as he motioned for Tracer to have a seat back on the metal slab she had previously been lying on.

“Hold on an astrosec, ‘Jack. Let’s not rush things here too much. She may not be ready for another invasive scan after what she’s just been through,” Smokescreen said, putting his hand up before stepping in front of the troubled femme and turning to face her. “Tracer, are you okay with Wheeljack conducting another cranial scan or would you rather just lie down and rest for a while?” The rallybot placed both hands onto her shoulders and cast her a gentle smile. “No one's forcing you either way. The choice is entirely yours.”

A small spiral of smoke curled around the illumination strip embedded into one of the recesses into the wall just above the gunmetal grey door lintle. The acrid stench of burnt rubber, copper and other insulanting materials danced and intermixed with the remanent traces of lingering cleansers and sterilizaters leaving the room bathed in a confused and darkened odor. In the furthest corner just below the primary viewer on the room, just left of the large polarized transparent aluminum port that gave the lone occupant in the room an unobstructed view of the dark side of the planet off the port side, was a pair of damanged and still sparking data pads. Both had been crushed as if they were nothing more than small aluminum storage containers instead of the sturdy titanium devices they were.

A few casual sparks jumped from the small peaks across the valleys carved through the compression of sheer strength of the fingers that had crumpled their now mangled bodies. Another pair of victims to the frustration of the times.

Ultra Magnus had returned from the planet hours before and allowed the Autobots to return to their tasks... much as Kup had recommended. They all needed a return to a normal time cycle, however times like these were anything but. War gripped every aspect of Cybertronian daily life, at least the lives of those who were lucky enough to have had a chance to decide what their lives had been worth. But how they were facing off against a supernatural creature, a beast ripped straight from the pages of legend and mythos.

The Autobot Commander's optics stared at the darkened reflection that stared back at him from the darkened screen of the computer console that allowed him access to the primary database. He had already familiarized himself with the mythos of The Fallen. Read every single available story, legend or log entry that ever mentioned the dreaded one. And so far nothing he had examined offered him any clues, and ever more regretted sending Rewind to the surface with Prowl's exploration team.

It left Magnus with yet another issue he had to deal with. The Autobots in the sector were still unaware of the transfer of command from Prowl to himself. And within the system itself, the Autobots were at a serious disadvantage with the Decepticon Battlefortress looming in orbit over Luna. And of course the specter that loomed even further overhead. "A challenge that only Optimus could over come..." He spoke to himself quietly before he finally pushed himself off his stool and made his way over to the monitor and viewing port.

"Computer, activate sensor scan frames of Survey location." The computer beeped its affirmation and activated the primary viewer. Several microseconds ticked away before the scans began to form. While Magnus was fully aware of the limitations of the scans, and the need for physical exploration, he was also keenly aware of their lack of time. Everything was beginning to press against them and he needed to start building the foundations necessary to protect this world. And from Earth he would protect Cybertronians themselves. But in order to do that the Autobots required a foothold to push back against the Decepticon hordes.

"Good, now overlay current solar radiation absorbtion readings over the valley." Magnus turned briefly to view the screen as the computer placed several wire frame marks across the large glacial valley. Several points absorbed higher levels of solar energy than others, not exactly unexpected. The question now was whether or not those points on the map would be enough to activate the sorts of construction projects he envisioned. "Lay the mortar." His voice echoed in the silence of the chamber.

Ultra Magnus placed his hands behind his back as more details of the scanned region were uploaded at regular intervals. He knew he could not remain idle, not with so much at stake, and nor could the Autobots he now commanded. A simple nod of his head, Magnus sent a silent command to the communications link. He patched into the terminal that linked his office with the lower levels of the ship. He could hear the intercomm static brush across his audio receptors as he left the link open. It was an eerie silence, pregnant with possibilities and dreaded doom that lay on the horizon. "Wheeljack. This is Ultra Magnus." He finally spoke into the communique line. "Do you have a spare moment?"

For a brief moment Tracer stared at the engineer while Wheeljack stood up and approached her. He used slow and careful movements which Tracer was grateful for. But it was the white mech’s reassuring, and genuine smile that put her entirely at ease. The scout gave Wheeljack a small smile but still took a slight step back and away from the approaching mech. He may not have looked like that same bot that worked in the asylum, but there was no reason to let her guard down.

Tracer kept her optics on the mechanical engineer as he and Smokescreen traded pleasantries. After several moments the femme broke away her optic contact with Wheeljack and took a quick look back at Smokey. It was a bit of a nuisance as both mechs felt the need to discuss their achievements when it came to her health while she was standing right there.

She was prepared to say something when Wheeljack mentioned another scan of her processor; something Tracer remembered all too well Axle performing. Optics wide with fear, the blue and white scout tried to back away as much as possible, however Smokescreen had already positioned himself directly behind her, his hand placed gently on her shoulder. Tracer pressed back against Smokescreen when the scientist motioned toward the metal slab she had been laying on earlier.

The femme was ready to protest when the rallybot moved to stand in front of her. She stated back at Smokescreen for a long moment before she took a quick peek over his shoulder at Wheeljack. “No! No more!” Tracer moved away from the red and blue mech and only stopped when she was pressed up against the medical slab. “No! I don’t want anyone in my head! Not again! Not anymore!”

The femme took a long hard look at the engineer before turning her optics to Smokescreen. “I don’t want him near me. Not him or the other one.” It several minutes but Tracer finally began to calm down. “I just want to get out of here.” She spoke in a low tone so that only Smokey could hear her. “Take me somewhere else, please. At least for a little while.” Tracer reached for the mech and lightly ran her finger tips over the top of his hand. “Please.”

Technically it was labeled the Airforce Hanger Bay, but Slingshot wasn't exactly too subtle about pointing out to the ship's Quartermaster that he and the rest of his squadron were the only airforce in the sector. It wasn't a hard arguement to make, given the entire roster of fliers could be counted down on one hand. So under the watchful optics of the Aerialbot sharpshooter, the Ark 22 Quartermaster removed the initial plaque over the primary metallic burnt orange double doors and replaced it with the larger more prominant sign labeling the hanger the official Aerialbot Barracks.

Slingshot could be very persuasive when he wanted to press the issue. He really didn't care about the mechanim's sarcastic quip as he disappeared around the hall back towards the lift. The Aerialbot was too busy carrying in his small box of trophies he had collected from the Guardian, including recent additions as fragments of Blitzwing and Astrotrain.

Various parts of machinery and munition racks lined the walls on three sides. Seven recharge slabs were along the fourth wall with the largest of the series was set in the middle the series. It was at least double the space that had been allocated to them onboard the smaller alcove that the squadron had been given, probably a touch more. It made sense given that an Ark type vessel was literally four to five times larger than a Destroyer.

The heroic flier immediately placed his box on the slab closest to the large quad monitor set on the far side of the chamber. Its terminals rigged for universal commands and conversions. While by his own right for getting them the space onboard ship, Slingshot could have procured the larger slab for himself, inwardly he knew he did not deserve such an honor. Leave that for the more capable and fearfilled leaders that ran the squadron. He served best by being locked away and staying out of the line of fire. After all he was a worthless flier.

Slingshot looked down at his box of trinkets and trophies. A small smile crossed his faceplate as he set the box down on his claimed slab. He extracted a twisted piece of purple metal from the broken and wrecked wing of Astrotrain. He then pulled a small thermite rocket from its housing and set it on another rack on the opposite side of the chamber next to where he assumed Air Raid would claim. He then placed the trophy in the weapon's slot and soon added the broken chunks of Blitzwing followed by a fragment of Thrust's exhaust manifold.

Once his trophies were set and secured, Slingshot activated the team communications link, excluding that of Silverbolt who had been reactivated and return to Earth under Prowl's supervision. He had to admit, his fearless leader had a knack for getting out of the tough and fun assignments. "Slingshot to Fireflight, Skydive and Air Raid. Looks like we've got our own friendly haven to call our own. Meet on Deck 6 of the Ark 22. We can bring this space up to our standards... before Fearless Freap returns from his little scouting assignment."

Tracer’s reaction was something Smokescreen had expected. The look on her faceplate alone had been more than enough to tell him that she was not going to have Wheeljack or anyone else probing her processor again, not for a very long time, at least. "Okay, okay! Tracer, it’s all right. No one’s going to force anything on you. I said it was your choice and I meant it,” the diversion expert promised as the troubled femme quickly backed away from him until the makeshift medical slab prevented her from retreating any further. The rallybot kept his distance while she began to slowly calm down. The last thing he wanted was for Tracer to relapse into her delusions again. The former street racer wanted her to feel safe and to trust him even if she didn’t trust anyone else.

Turning briefly to face Wheeljack, Smokescreen shot his friend a weak smile. “Sorry, ‘Jack, any further scans are going to have to wait for now. She’s just not ready for that kind of thing yet.”

Wheeljack sighed and returned the rallybot’s smile with one of his own. “I understand, Smokey. I guess it was just wishful thinking on my part. Axle’s not going to like it, but he’ll get over it. Just keep a close optic on her and let me or Axle know if she exhibits any kind of weird behavior or further lapses in her cognitive processes. Okay?”

“Of course,” the diversion expert responded as he gave Wheeljack on pat on his shoulder plate. “You’ll be the first to know anything.”

Wheeljack nodded just as his comm line came alive with the sound of Ultra Magnus’ voice, requesting to see the scientist as soon as possible. Opening a return channel, the mechanical engineer sent a response to the City Commander:

>>”As a matter of fact I do have a spare moment, Commander Magnus. I will be up to see you shortly.”<<

Once the message was sent, Wheeljack switched off his comm link and returned his attention to Smokescreen. “Sorry about that. I’ve been called away for a meeting with Ultra Magnus. I don’t know what’s it’s about, but I’m sure it’s nothing too serious. Think you will be okay here with Tracer while I’m gone?”

“Sure, no problem,” Smokescreen replied with a thumbs up.

“Good. Not sure how long this will take. Just stay in the lab and out of trouble until I get back.”

The rallybot responded only with a wry smile as Wheeljack’s faceshield slid back over his mouthpiece again before he turned towards the exit. Within astroseconds, the engineer had left the lab and was making his way through the corridors of the Ark-22, not wanting to keep Ultra Magnus waiting.

Smokescreen turned back around, giving his undivided attention once again to Tracer. It had taken several minutes, but she finally calmed down from the threat of more cranial scans. The troubled femme wasted no time in conveying to the red and blue mech just how much she wanted to get out of the lab, begging him to take her anywhere. The rallybot considered her request for a moment. With Wheeljack now gone, it would be easy for them to sneak away without him finding out. They couldn’t be gone for too long, and there was always the chance of running into Axle along the way, but it just might do her a vorn of good to see what’s outside of the lab, which could further reinforce the fact that she was not in the asylum anymore.

“Okay, Tracer,” Smokescreen reluctantly agreed as he slowly moved in closer to her, placing a gentle hand on her cheek. “Wheeljack was called away for a meeting so we should have no problem taking a little stroll. But, we can’t be gone for more than a cycle or two at most and you need to stay close to me. It would also be helpful if you didn’t interact with anyone. Now, I have an idea on where we might go. Your personal quarters are located over on the Guardian. Maybe if you see some of your own things, you’ll feel more comfortable with your surroundings and any remaining gaps in your memory will be filled. Sound like a plan?”

Corridors outside Captain’s Ready Room

Stepping out of the turbo lift, Wheeljack made his way swiftly to the location where the City Commander’s signal had originated from. The Captain’s Ready Room was a good distance from his lab, but it still felt great getting out and actually seeing the rest of the ship after being cooped up with two love-struck patients for so long. The only reprieve he had gotten was when the engineer had taken Smokescreen’s original body down to be incinerated and that was hardly a fun romp through the ship.

Wheeljack wondered what Ultra Magnus wanted to talk to him about. Many things ran through his processor, not the least of which was what had happened to Smokescreen. Surely, Prowl had entered an incident report into the Ark’s database by now, so the subject would likely come up. All the scientist had to do was stick to the story they had all come up with and everything would be fine. Besides, this meeting might not have anything to do with Smokescreen or his faux cosmic rust outbreak. Actuators crossed.

Approaching the doors to the Captain’s quarters, Wheeljack found them to be unlocked, a clear indication that he was expected. The doors parted down the center, revealing the imposing form of the City Commander standing silently across the room. The mechanical engineer stood within the threshold and gave Ultra Magnus a respectful salute. “Commander, Wheeljack reporting as ordered. Permission to enter, sir?”

After Fireflight had blinked into existence within the bounce chamber, he missed a step in walking off of the platform and almost tripped. He didn't though. He caught himself and looked around to see if anyone else and seen him before quickly exiting the bay doors in to the corridors of the ship itself.

He had made progress of about twenty meters or so when he realized he had forgotten where Slingshot had told them to meet up. A quick scan of his internal message archives revealed it to be deck six.

Hmm. Okay. Where's deck six? What deck am I on now? How many decks does this ship have?

Realizing he knew the answer to none of those questions right off the top off his head, he found the nearest panel and accessed a ship's directory. He found a little red dot that indicated his current positioning and then traced a finger between there and deck six. Having found the answer to his question, his mind quickly wandered off to more enjoyable pursuits such as when he would have the opportunity to play someone at Matrix next. Or maybe some holobetting.

As he walked off, thoughts of deck six and its location were soon forgotten.

Ultra Magnus turned at the first sound of the compressing piston as it pulled the large doors back into the recesses in the threshold. His optics caught the first sign of the racing green stripe on the shoulder of the chief engineer of the Ark 22, and probably the chief design engineer in the entire Autobot Army. Immediately his mind shifted to a previous report he had received from Prowl before he had dispatched the survey team to the planet surface.

"Permission Granted Wheeljack."

The doors closed behind the inventor with a muted hiss of pressure as gaskets sealed, preventing sound from being leaked out into the gathered masses of the bridge or beyond. One thing Magnus did not need was a potential leaking of information before he was ready to put his pieces on the board. Though he had not yet received reports from the surface, not entirely unexpected given their limited exposure to the region in question, Magnus wanted to get blue prints on the boards ready for construction as soon as Prowl gave the green light.

Of course there were other angles he had to address as well. Soon he was going to have to address the entire combined force around Earth, and the time he had allocated to preperation was swiftly ticking away before that announcement. "Have a seat Wheeljack. I trust you have addressed the immediate concerns within your laboratory." He spoke carefully as not to put the inventor on edge. This was not an inqusition after all.

His fingers interlocked behind his back as he turned to face his comrade in arms. His features were as soft as he could make them, though that was tough to go given he was no Optimus. Magnus waited a few moments before releasing his hands and carefully lowering himself onto the chair that had barely managed to avoid his initial bout of irritation and wrath.

Without another moment of pause he pressed a toggle on the underside of the desk and leaned back as two invisible cones of light erupted forth from the walls and collided in the heart of the table just above the damaged computer monitor. "On to the business at hand. Currently I have a small team investigating this particular region of Earth. A heavily wooded continent in a tropical region with spots of more moderate temperments. In general this one location, a valley, has access to a great many variety of landscapes, environmental hazzards and indiginous lifeforms." The hologram entered a colored representation of the region Prowl and his team were currently exploring.

"This is the region in question. As you can see by the initial sensor uploads, it has a bevy of power resources to tap. However, as you can expect, there is atmopsheric disturbances that leaves clear readings almost impossible... Hence the scouting missions." He paused. At least now the Engineer would be brought up to date with what was known. He did not necessarily want to go into details regarding potential building materials. Details of that nature was part of the reason he had dispatched the survey to begin with.

"Now that you are up to speed. I have an assignment for you that relates to this particular region. This valley, provided we locate an approprately hidden venue within the boundaries of said valley, is going to be the site of a new Autobot Colony. A command hub for the sector." He toggled the map again highlighting several detectable solar radiation zones.

It lingered a moment before it cycled again, this time to an older schematic set. "You can probably gather what this is." It was the image of a basic ring designed gateway. Various notes and scripts highlighted various components including the transwarp generator. A global space bridge portal node.

"I want you to build a team around Blaster, Ironfist and Hoist. Your objective is to design new systems, from power generators to manufacturing facilities, that can be built rapidly and operate on this planet without detection from local inhabitants or orbital sensors. In addition I want a refined design for a global space bridge network as the hub of this new facility."

Ultra Magnus paused briefly as he allowed his optics to glance over towards the polarized view port. "I realize that this is a tall order Wheeljack. Designing new technology, not just using tried and true methods is indeed difficult. However, not all of our needs can be met just by using standard construction equipment." He paused briefly before he returned his attention back to the inventor. "Do you have any questions so far as to what I am asking?"

Motto:"I can totally prove that I'm not a zombie! Just lean over hear, and let me take a little nibble out of your brains."

Weapon: Double Barrelled Shell Launcher

OOC: SInce no one has posted any of the Autobots from Sea of Change yet, I hope it's okay if I get things started.

Bounce Chamber

Once the almost blinding light disappated, Groove found himself standing on the bounce pad of the Ark-22 along with the rest of the Autobots. While he shook off the dizzying effects of the bounce, his mind was stilled filled with everything that had happened on Earth, the return of the Fallen being at the forefront of his thoughts.

To think that such an ancient, terrible legend could reappear..... I can't help but wonder if it really is a sign that our extinction is at hand......

Though dark worries filled his processors, he didn't forget the words of their new leader, Ultra Magnus, and his reassuring hand on the scout's shoulder. He spoke of hope for the future, that this new challenge was no different than the countless challenges that their people had faced before.

Groove raised his head up with optimism. The Fallen had been defeated before, surely he could be defeated again. And perhaps, as unlikely as it may have seemed, there was the potential of both Autobots and Decepticons settling their differences and ending the war in order to face this mutual enemy. If it was possible the two factions could cease their fighting for just a breem or two like they just did, then there was at least a tiny micrometer of a chance it could happen.

Groove took a step off the bounce pad, and his optimism was quickly replaced with soreness. Though he hadn't been seriously damaged, he had taken a good beating from Vortex's cyclone and it's swirling debris. With many small dents and bruises, he stepped over to Hot Spot.

"I think I could use a breem or two in the CR chamber, Hot Spot."

Groove looked around again at the small group, seeing only Kup, Ironhide, and the only other Protectobot, Streetwise. The scout remembered that they had been bounced onto the Ark=22, while First Aid and the other injured had probably been bounced back to the Guardian. He sighed, he wanted to talk with his close friend about everything that had happened, but knew that his commander wouldn't want him to waste time walking across two ships. Maybe he wasn't as close to Streetwise, but it looked like the Interceptor was his best chance for a talk on recent events.

"Streetwise, I'm going to the medical bay for some minor repairs. Would you care to join me?"

From her vantage point Tracer kept a close eye on Wheeljack while he and Smokescreen had their little conversation, which was about her, no doubt. After a few minutes the scientist excused himself and left the lab. Tracer furrowed her brow as she watched Wheeljack suddenly leave. She let out a relieved sigh, tossed her head back and shut down her optics. This whole ordeal was just so draining. Right now all she wanted was to get away.

Tracer onlined her optics and pressed her cheek into the rallybot’s hand when she felt him press it gently against her. Smokescreen then went on to announce that the now absent engineer had been called away and that they were going to be alone for an unknown amount of time. Her interest piqued further when the rallybot told her he was more than willing to take her out of the lab, and their destination would be her own quarters.

The scout gave Smokescreen an enthusiastic nod at the plan and added a very happy, “Yes.” She stepped away from the slab very ready to leave the confines of the lab. Tracer then moved to the door where she waited for Smokescreen to follow.

While waiting the femme let out a startled gasp and took a quick back-step away from the door. She looked down and noticed a turbofox pressed against her leg. The animal seemed familiar, but she couldn’t remember why. Tracer stared at the creature for several moments before she slowly squatted down to get closer to it. “Razr?” She questioned more to herself than her pet as she reached forward. She didn’t have to move her hand very far as Razr quickly stood and pressed his head against the palm of her hand.

“Yeah. Good boy.” A broad smile formed on the femme’s face as she relaxed and stroked the turbofox’s head. But to her surprise Razr moved past her and stood directly in front of the door. “Oh no. I have a feeling it’d probably be better if you stayed here, Razr.” The small critter cocked its head to the side and regarded its master with an unsure expression. Tracer smiled and very quickly gave her pet a series of hand signs that sent Razr from the door to the back room where he set down on his haunches and waited.

Tracer stood turned away from the door and watched as her pet followed her silent directions. With a small smirk the femme raised her hand and dropped it at the wrist. No sooner had the gesture been made Razr stood back up and moved under the far workbench where he curled up and settled down for a recharge. “Ready? I really want to get to my quarters to have a look around.” Tracer said to Smokescreen once her little companion was resting soundly.

Smokescreen saw the excitement in Tracer’s optics as she enthusiastically said “yes” to his idea of taking a quick trip over to her personal quarters on the Protectobot frigate. The now happy femme moved away towards the door where the diversion expert watched as she interacted with Razr, whom she didn’t seem to recognize at first before the memories of her favorite little pet came back to her. They hadn’t even left the lab yet, and more pieces of the puzzle that comprised Tracer’s mind was already coming together. She even remembered her hand signals that succeeded in making the turbofox head off into the back room where he fell into recharge.

“I’m glad that you’ve become reacquainted with Razr,” Smokescreen said with a broad smile as he approached Tracer by the door. “And, yes, I’m all ready to go. However, there’s no telling how long Wheeljack will be, so we should get started now. Take my hand and follow me. Just stay close and everything will be fine.” The diversion expert then reached out and placed his right hand into her left before taking the lead and exiting the scientist’s lab.

Corridors

Traversing the numerous hallways of the Ark-22 was not as inconspicuous as it once was only a cycle ago. A majority of the Autobots had been reassigned to the larger vessel from the Guardian and were beginning to fill the previously empty corridors. Smokescreen simply nodded at many of his comrades as he passed by them, sparing only a word or two in some instances. Thankfully, no one had yet taken notice of his new body or perhaps they had just assumed he reformatted into a new alt mode, which wasn’t entirely a lie nor was it the truth, either. Regardless, with a good portion of mechs now on board the Ark, it should make it somewhat easier to move around on the Guardian without drawing too much attention to themselves.

“You still with me there, Tracer?” Smokescreen quietly asked as he glanced around at the troubled femme whose hand remained gripped firmly within his own. “We’re almost at the docking ring now. Shouldn’t be too much longer after that.”

Rounding one final corner, the love-bots found themselves staring straight down the throat of the docking tunnel that lead over to the medical frigate. Smokescreen stopped at the threshold for a moment and looked over at Tracer who had done quite well during their travel through the increasingly populated Ark-22. “All right, I’ve got you this far. Now, let’s see if you can get us the rest of the way. Okay?” The rallybot turned and smiled, giving her hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “Across this tunnel is the Guardian. It’s the ship you came here on, allowing us to finally be reunited after so many vorns. Do you remember how to get to your quarters from here, Trace?”

Smokescreen didn't want to do all of the work for the drug-altered femme. It was important for Tracer to rediscover things for herself even if it aggravated her to some degree. A little bit of aggravation was better than the alternative. She had made so much progress thus far that it was only a matter of time before the hallucinogen was completely purged from her systems and her memories were once again made whole.

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